Arms of the Angel
by LoriHuCalmia
Summary: When Santana took the job at Hummel Designs, she didn't expect to break up with Brittany. She didn't expect to meet a homeless Sebastian Smythe. And she certainly didn't expect to be swept up into the biggest adventure of her life. Her universe will never be the same. Warnings: prostitution, non-con, drug abuse, withdrawal, and drug dealing. Future!fic. AU from the L-verse.
1. Spend All Your Time Waiting

_This is different than my usual fare, in the sense that this entire thing is centered around a single song, instead of a bunch of songs being centered around the story. In this version of the future, Kurt owns his own design company, Santana's his secretary, Blaine is Rachel's agent, and Puck coaches young kids (6-8) in sports. And everyone lives in New York._

_And yes, familiar OCs will appear._

_(Words in parenthesis are thoughts the characters don't dare to think, but also can't avoid.)_

_Disclaimer: I don't own Glee or "Angel," by Sarah McLachlan. I also have never been addicted to heroin, but have a loved one who has._

* * *

Chapter I: Spend All Your Time Waiting

"You have to stop this," Kurt startled Santana out of her reverie at the beginning of May. "You're working too much, and this is coming from the kid who spends weekends at the office."

"Well, there's not a lot else I can do, is there?" Santana knew her tone was biting away at everyone's patience, but she also didn't care.

"Brittany isn't the only person out there for you!" Kurt insisted. "There's plenty more fish in the sea!"

"You and Blaine are still together!" Santana pointed out.

"But Rachel and Finn aren't, and even Blaine and I thought they'd last longer than we would," Kurt added.

Santana rolled her eyes. "You did?" she asked sarcastically. "Even Britt and I could tell-"

Kurt held up a hand. "Tana, stop." He reached across the table. "Remember why you left Brittany?"

"She wants kids, I don't, it's unfair to make either of us resentful of the other," Santana repeated the mantra that had been in her head since she had first realized that this was a fundamental difference and she had to break the two of them up to save both of them from a much more painful break-up later on.

But it still hurt. She was alone, at thirty-six, in New York, with nothing but a job as a secretary for Kurt's fashion company. It paid well, but left very little time for socialization, which was possibly why she had been with Brittany for so long; neither of them saw each other long enough to realize the extent of their anger at each other. That was why, one instead of offering to work over the Christmas holidays like she usually did, Santana asked for the next six weeks off.

"What's brought this on?" Kurt asked.

"I just ordered a giant box of sex toys that aren't going to play with themselves," Santana replied. She colored, because it wasn't a complete lie.

Kurt smiled at her and nodded. "I'll see you when you get back, Tana."

Santana smiled back, her features softening. "See you later, Twink. And don't send me pictures of you and Blaine in the Philippines. I'm going to puke if I see one more lovey-dovey date you two go on," she added.

Kurt laughed and waved goodbye as Santana got ready to go home. She changed into a crimson dress she stole from the _West Side Story_performance so long ago, put on lipstick, slipped on midnight-blue stilettos, carefully applied purple nail polish, and her purse—the very first one designed by one Mister Kurt Hummel.

She checked herself once more in the mirror before nodding in satisfaction and walking out on her way to the club, smirking at every person whose eyes lingered, male or female. (The pairs of eyes as she got to the new club scared her a little.) She had just sat down at a table quite far from the bar—no one looked very willing to let her cut in front of them—and was choosing what to drink when she caught the green eyes of a very familiar person across the room.

Sure, the eyes were familiar, but the face was anything but. It was bony and thin, like someone had stretched a piece of plastic wrap over a skull and painted it pink.

"Santana?" Sebastian wore a mixture of surprise, delight, and fear on his face upon seeing her. The reason for the surprise was obvious, the delight Santana chose to ignore, and the fear she attributed to his obvious dislike of being seen as anything but the coldest, fiercest bitch there was. "What the hell are you doing here?"

"I haven't been here before," Santana answered, shrugging. "What does it matter?"

Sebastian scowled. "It doesn't. Just want to be sure you know the kinds of people who go here, that's all."

Santana outright laughed at that. "Are you kidding me, Horse-face? I'm from Lima Heights, or have you starved that particular fact out of your mind?"

Sebastian glared at her. "You know what, fine. Ignore everything I say. Just don't come crying to me when-" he suddenly clenched his jaw and turned away, moving as if he was about to leave.

Santana felt as though she had been hit in the gut by Sebastian's fist, something which would have undoubtedly hurt, seeing as how she could count each individual bone in said fist. Forcing herself to speak more softly, she put a hand on his shoulder. "Hey," she said, "we got off to a bad start." She put her purse down and sat next to him. "So, what's a guy like you doing in a place like this?"

Sebastian chuckled. "Don't feel sorry for me, Auntie Snix."

"You remembered," Santana nodded approvingly. "Can I get a gin and tonic?" she nodded at the bartender who looked her up and down before immediate going to make her drink.

"Good choice," Sebastian said, holding up his own.

Santana brushed his hand away. "Seriously, what the hell, Sebastian?"

Sebastian shrugged, taking a sip of his drink and clearly not in the mood to answer. Santana sighed inwardly. If she wanted information out of him—wanted Sebastian to make himself vulnerable—she would have to do it first. She took a sip of her newly-arrived drink, preparing herself and not noticing the way the bartender looked at her, nor the way Sebastian looked at the bartender.

"I broke up with Brittany," she said, wincing at the memory of a particularly nasty fight. "She wanted to be a mom and, well, look at me," she gestured at herself. "I'm not mom material."

"You'd be a great mother," Sebastian sounded a little funny as he turned his attention back to, but she couldn't put her finger on why, nor could she pinpoint his strange expression. He smirked, and Santana realized she had been staring at him.

"Didn't you hear me, Smythe?" she made her tone as annoyed as it could be without being obnoxious. "I said I didn't want kids."

Sebastian held up his hands in surrender. "I didn't say you had to have them," he replied defensively. There! There was the Sebastian Santana knew and loved to (fuck) hate.

A woman Santana had never seen before tapped Sebastian on the shoulder, someone who caused a defeated look to spread across Sebastian's face when he saw him.

"Hey, slugface," Santana stood up and got right in the woman's face. "Back away from him, alright?" she demanded aggressively.

The woman just laughed and grabbed Santana's shoulder. She felt a flash of cold panic run through her, stopping and pooling in her stomach and almost making her throw up when she tried to tug her arm back and he refused to let go, until Sebastian put one hand where Santana's shoulder met her neck and another on the woman's wrist. The cold melted under his hand, and she took a subconscious step toward him.

"She's nothing, Alodia," Sebastian said, and the warmth immediately dissipated, but Santana found herself unable to take her eyes off Sebastian as he coaxed Alodia to slowly release her, and not just because of the insult.

His body, which had grown stiffer and stiffer throughout their conversation, was now pliant and seductive. She wondered if Sebastian was offering himself up in her place, but just the thought made her want to shower.

Sebastian and Alodia disappeared for some time, during which Santana did her best to forget that she had ever seen his smarmy face, and failed miserably. She ended up dancing with someone who got a little handy, and she had started to fight him off when Sebastian had come to her rescue yet **again**, standing up to Tod as if he weren't able to snap Sebastian's neck in half like a twig. Tod had left Santana alone after that, but Santana had a feeling it was more because the sight of Sebastian getting angry on her behalf was amusing and less because Sebastian was a genuine threat.

"Last call!" the bartender yelled.

"That's it," Sebastian said, taking her arm and steering her out, grabbing her coat on the way. "We're going. You're not making a fool of me in front of my friends anymore."

"They aren't your friends," Santana said harshly, expecting a retort just as harsh.

To her surprise, Sebastian merely wrapped himself tightly in her coat. "Yeah, I know," he said softly.

Santana was starting to shiver too. It was New York City, it was dark, and she had only brought that one coat for herself. She rubbed her hands on her arms to smooth down the goosebumps that rose on her flesh.

"Oh, sorry," Sebastian said, stopping to take it off and handing it to her with blue, trembling fingers.

"Don't be stupid, Smythe," Santana said as she kept walking. "Just give it back to me tomorrow."

Sebastian shook his head and started walking after her. "It'll either get ruined or stolen if you leave it with me tonight."

Santana snorted. "What, do you live in a crackhouse or something?" When Sebastian didn't answer, she stopped dead in her tracks. "Oh my god, you totally do, don't you?" she stared at Sebastian until the boy—the man, he was nearly twenty-three, but damn, he looked so young—started to squirm. "Okay," she said, snapping out of it. "We're going to my place, you're going to have a crappy TV dinner and warm yourself up next to my radiator."

"Stop being stupid," Sebastian said, trying to pull away. "People are going to be expecting me, and if they find me with you-"

"Then I'll deal with them," Santana said. "It'd be better, seeing as **you** look like a moderate gust of wind would win against you in a fight."

"No!" Sebastian glared at her.

"You just told me you live in a crackhouse! I'm offering you a safe fucking place to live! Why are you being so stubborn?"

"Because there's a reason I live in that crackhouse, okay?"

Santana opened her mouth to shoot off a nasty retort, when a sudden epiphany left her reeling. "Oh my god," she gaped. "You're an addict."

Sebastian laughed. "You make it sound dirty," he said.

"It **is** dirty," and Santana forgot how cover herself up. "You always acted like you were better than us," she admitted.

Sebastian shrugged. "It doesn't really matter now, does it?"

Santana decided to forgo her interrogation in favor of starting to drag Sebastian toward her apartment. When he began to protest, she answered, "You really expect me to let you shoot up again?"

"Santana Lopez, if you don't let go of me right now, I will scream for the cops," Sebastian hissed.

"And I'll keep you here until they get here and arrest you," Santana replied smugly. "It's either a jail cell or my place, Sebas, and only one of those places won't have you looking over your shoulder in the shower—that I'm totally making you take, by the way, you stink—every time you drop the soap."

Something flickered over Sebastian's face that made Santana feel sick from the very thought of what it might entail, so she pushed the thought into the furthest corners of her mind. "Well?" she asked in an imperial tone.

Sebastian momentarily looked devious before turning his expression into one of utter compliance that Santana didn't trust in the least. "Keep the talking to a minimum, okay?" he snapped. "The less I have to remember how indebted I am to you, the better."

"Fine," Santana let out a breath just as huffy as Sebastian had been acting.

'**Sebas**?' What the hell had she been thinking?

"Probably dirty thoughts," Sebastian replied. Had she said that out loud?

She had little time to feel embarrassed; Sebastian's walk was getting slower and slower, and Santana (was afraid) thought he was going to faint when, to her (horror) lack of surprise, he did. Santana made sure the coat was securely wrapped around him before carrying him to her apartment. It took a while, but not as long as it should have; she could feel every rib in Sebastian's torso, even through her coat—the first one designed by one Kurt Hummel—and wondered how little weight was too little. The strange looks she was getting from people on the sidewalk barely even registered.

She laid Sebastian out on her bed, wrinkling her nose as she stripped him of his her coat and (tucked him in) covered him with the blankets. She took her coat with her onto the couch next to the kitchen. The coat smelled awful as she pulled it over herself, like blood, tears, vomit, and something Santana couldn't name where Sebastian had worn it.

But underneath it all, underneath everything, she could smell the boy who had given her back the tape, apologizing for the slushie before….

Oh, shit. It took a ridiculous amount of shaking before Sebastian actually looked up at Santana, and even then he seemed to look through her with huge pupils. Santana groaned inwardly when she realized he was high as a kite. Clearly, Alodia had given him something.

"Sebastian," Santana began anyway, "I don't remember seeing you after Regionals. Did you run away?"

Sebastian simply blinked at her. Disgusted, Santana got off the bed, not even unrumpling her sheets, and curled back up on the couch.

* * *

_She walks up to the counter at the Lima Bean and orders a cinnamon latte with uncharacteristic solemnity. Chatting with Brittany takes her mind off the fact that this is probably the last time she's getting coffee with the rest of the Glee Club. It's a cloudy day. To her right is a huge parking lot. To her left is a weather-faded poster on a pole, screaming HAVE YOU SEEN ME? It barely registers, but the face seems familiar and she drifts closer to it as she talks with the Cheerios. She bids Rachel good luck in New York, and shrugs it off when Kurt, nearby, gets a little choked up._

"_You're still going to have fashion," Hobbit tells Baby Gay. "That's something no one can take away from you."_

"_But I didn't apply to any fashion schools!" Kurt protests._

"_That's not what NYU says," Blaine holds up an envelope. "I wasn't going to show you this, because I was sure you were going to get into NYADA, but I applied to New York University in Stony Brook to get you this design scholarship."_

_Kurt stares at Blaine like he doesn't know whether to smack him or snog him. Santana turns around, not wanting to (intrude on a private moment) watch two guys make out. Then her eyes fall on the poster. It tells her that Sebastian Smythe has been missing since Regionals. She opens her mouth to talk about it, but Brittany says something about dolphins and she sees Sam bidding Quinn good luck at Yale and Mercedes giving Puck a goodbye hug and that lump comes back to her throat. Emotion crowds out her concern for a boy she barely knows and she calls for a group hug. She doesn't see the poster again, nor does she think about it that night._

* * *

In her bedroom, someone fell with a crash. Santana burst inside, but Sebastian didn't appear injured, just nauseous. Wordlessly, Santana pointed to her bathroom and Sebastian ran inside to throw up. Santana followed, wondering when she had gone soft.

She didn't have much time to wonder, because she saw that Sebastian's vomit was a clearish fluid, her heart stopped. "Jesus," she said irritably. "When the fuck was the last time you ate?"

Sebastian shrugged. "I don't feel hungry. I get too heavy to get food when the snow starts kicking in."

Santana sighed and walked to her refrigerator to find a couple Jimmy Deans she had been too tired—just because Sebastian was far, far lighter than he should have been didn't mean he was light—to heat a few hours ago and put them in the oven before an insane idea came to her. She had sat down in front of her laptop, looking up the symptoms of withdrawal as the sounds of Sebastian retching again reached her ears and she sat back down beside him as he continued to throw up bile and look pathetic. Not entirely sure her gesture would be welcome, Santana reached over to rub Sebastian's back.

* * *

_Next chapter should be up tomorrow._


	2. For that Second Chance

_Hey, guys! Remember when I uploaded this chapter when I said I would? Yeah, me neither. I'm having some internet troubles (by which I mean, I have no internet) so I'm putting this up now. __Don't kill me, please! I'm nice._

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Chapter II: For that Second Chance

When Sebastian thought he could speak without throwing up, he mustered together all his energy to look up at Santana and thanked her.

"Don't thank me yet, Weasel-face," Santana replied. "If the online articles I just read are true, you're still in for a world of pain."

Sebastian's world was spinning too harshly for him to even think of a sharp reply, so he ignored her.

"All that glitters is gold," his phone rang, and Santana got to it before he could in his weakened state. He could only glare daggers at her as she answered, scoffed at Alodia, and hung up.

"I needed that," Sebastian told her angrily.

Santana rolled her eyes, which had something like determination and fear in them. "Sure you do, Horse-face," she got up and something in the background beeped. "That's dinner, or breakfast," she said. Sebastian followed her eyes, looking out the window at the first lightening of the sky.

"Santana, I'm glad you're doing this, but I really need you to leave me alone," Sebastian said.

"You expect me to just watch you kill yourself?"

Sebastian actually laughed. "Don't pretend you care."

"I'm not pretending," Santana insisted. "You are never going to take another hit of any hard drug, ever," she said. "I'm going to make sure of that."

This couldn't be happening. The pre-dawn light cast a grey fuzziness across the room, making everything look quite unreal.

"This is happening, Smythe," Santana narrowed her eyes. So, he had spoken out loud.

"I can't do it!" Sebastian was panicking. He could already feel the pain in his legs like he had been running for quite some time.

"You're going to have to," Santana replied, grabbing the breakfast plate and sitting down next to him. She looked like she was getting ready to feed him, and Sebastian reached forward to smash the food against the bathroom cabinets and walls.

"Shit!" Santana hissed, rubbing the skin on her bare arm where the hot food had burned her. Sebastian was immediately ashamed.

"Sorry," he apologized, before another surge of nausea sent him retching into the toilet bowl. "That was your fault though, you know," he said. "You could just spare yourself the trouble and let me go outside."

"Not happening, Smythe," Santana replied.

"Who said you could run my life?" Sebastian roared, wanting nothing more than to reach up and smack her, except that she would overpower him in a second (and he still wanted to prove he was stronger than she was).

"Sit back down next to the toilet before you throw up again, Meerkat," Santana sighed.

"What happened to 'Sebas?'" Sebastian whined. He knew that the nickname meant that Santana cared, at least to some degree, and he intend on getting any leverage he could.

The look Santana shot him was briefly so full of pain that he was actually breathless for a second, before it twisted into something like contempt so strong that it shut Sebastian up for another hour.

"Why do you bother?" Sebastian muttered eventually.

"Because I actually care about people, hard as that might be to believe," Santana replied, wiping the final smears of food off the cabinets and the walls.

"If you really cared about me-" but Sebastian bit his tongue. He knew instinctively that, by inviting him into her apartment, Santana had left herself wide open for attack. And as much of a jerk as he might be, he wasn't going to throw that in her face.

"Here," Santana said, leaning down with another plate. "You haven't thrown up for the last twenty minutes. I think you can keep some food down."

Sebastian refused to let her feed him. He wanted to keep at least some of his dignity to himself. Unfortunately, about fifteen minutes later, all dignity was going the way of the food: into the toilet, getting flushed down by a sighing Santana.

"At least it's not bile," Santana said with an eye-roll.

"Well, listen to you talk pretty, Sunshine," Sebastian said sarcastically.

Santana looked like she was ready to kick Sebastian out, or at the very least hit him, but all she did was grab a chair and sit down directly between Sebastian and the door. Sebastian began to talk quickly, hoping she'd let him out soon.

"You don't understand what the real world is like. You live up in a huge penthouse apartment! You don't know what's going on. I need the heroin to function!"

"You need the heroin about as much as I need another man in my life!" Santana replied, shooting him a dirty look.

"Another man?" Sebastian laughed. "Aren't you gay?"

"Aren't you?" Santana immediately retorted. "I didn't catch you saying no to Alodia."

The name sent bile rising up Sebastian's throat again, but he was up and raring to go the moment he was done throwing up. "What about you and Tod?"

"Tod was cute," Santana replied. (She couldn't remember what he looked like.)

Sebastian felt something shrivel up and die inside him, probably the remains of his esophagus. "I knew it!" Sebastian guffawed too loudly for it to be anything sincere. "You're a slut. You'll fuck anyone with a pulse, won't you? Just like you did during high school."

"While we're talking about sluts, Sebastian," Santana rose, "I could tell you about your failed attempts to seduce my dol-I mean, Kurt and Blaine."

Sebastian snickered loudly. "Ha!" he laughed. "I knew it! Even Brittany couldn't stand you! The one person who might have been stupid enough to-"

Suddenly, Santana was on top of him, pinning him down to the floor. "Don't you dare call her stupid, you asshole. What kind of person do you think **you** are?"

"I AM IN PAIN!" Sebastian roared at her.

She turned away and let go, but not out of defeat. "Your breath stinks, Weasel-face," she said, turning around to go back to her chair. Incensed, Sebastian jumped up, using his anger to stead his shaky legs and force Santana against the wall. Fear flashed across Santana's face. Clearly, she had not been expecting him to be able to pin her down too, but she quickly got over her fear and began to struggle against him. Sebastian felt his grip on her shoulders start to fail, raised his fist, swung it back, and brought it forward in a forceful punch.

Santana would deny to her dying day that she had screamed as Sebastian's fist went through the drywall in her bathroom before he cursed and clutched his misshapen hand to his chest. Santana stupidly stood around for a few second before grabbing Sebastian's hand and drawing out another shout.

"Shut up!" Santana said hurriedly, flustered. "You'll wake my neighbors."

"Oh, I'll wake your neighbors," Sebastian's biting sarcasm was blunted by the agony in his voice. "My fucking hand is broken!"

"You punched my wall," Santana glared up at him. Whatever he saw in her expression not only made him shut up, but actually soften his own. Santana hoped it wasn't fear.

"I'm sorry," he said.

"Yeah, well, it doesn't matter," Santana sat back down on the chair. "I can't deal with you."

She had never seen anyone simultaneously relax and tense.

"I'm going to call the hospital."

"No," Sebastian said immediately.

"You need help, Sebastian."

"That's what you're doing, isn't it?" Sebastian sounded desperate.

"I can't do this," Santana admitted.

"Then let me out," it occurred to her that Sebastian was actually begging. "Please, let me out and I'll never bother you again."

"No," Santana shook her head. "You're going to kill yourself, if not tonight then soon, and I'm not going to let that happen when I can stop it."

"We're all going to die," Sebastian pleaded.

"Not this young, and not this slowly," Santana nudged Sebastian's ribs.

Smash Mouth's "All Star," buzzed weakly from Sebastian's phone, and once again Santana snatched it from Sebastian's hands.

"Sebastard, it's been eight hours, and not one word from you," Alodia's cold voice was still very familiar. "Are you with another dealer?" she demanded.

"Oh, believe me," Santana snorted, "I'm not a dealer, and if you are, you just lost a customer." She turned to Sebastian to see his reaction: he looked panicked.

The voice on the other end of the line grew impossibly colder. "You're Tod's slut from the bar last night," Alodia recalled.

"Are you jealous?" Santana smirked. Next to her, Sebastian had grown even paler. How was that even possible?

"I know what you look like, bitch, and I know people. I will find you and I will take away everything you love."

Santana laughed. "Good luck with that," she said in her nastiest tone. "And just for the record, you're never speaking to Sebastian again, ever." She tore the phone away from her ear and hung up.

Sebastian stared up at her, nearly hyperventilating. "You, you can't do this," he stuttered. "She'll find you. She's already looking for me. She'll find you, and she'll…" he stopped, looking down on the ground.

Santana froze, and her skin crawled. This was the thing she had tried to avoid ever since she first saw Sebastian.

"She'll what, Sebastian?" she demanded.

Sebastian shook his head. "You don't want to hear it," he said, shame evident in his voice. "No one does."

"Try me," Santana crossed her arms.

"She made me have sex with her, okay?" Sebastian looked up at her. "She said she liked me more than any of the others, but she wasn't…she wasn't averse to sending me out to earn more money if she or I needed it."

Santana felt bile rising from her stomach and suddenly, it was her throwing up over the toilet, and Sebastian rubbing her back with a skeletal, scabbed, clammy hand. Santana grabbed Sebastian's hand and looked closely at him. He looked feverish, nauseous, and weak. Santana flushed the toilet and rinsed her mouth out before she pulled out her cell phone.

"Who are you calling?" Sebastian asked.

"The police, then Kurt," Santana snarled. "I work for him, so he's my health insurance provider."

"Why do you need-" Sebastian's eyes widened. "Please, Santana, please, don't take me to the hospital."

"What is it with you and hospitals?" Santana turned around and yelled.

Sebastian crossed the room and pushed Santana into the wall again, but he was shaking, and they both knew all it would take to dislodge him was a shove. Santana jutted her chin out defiantly, expecting to get hit and knowing that it would probably hurt, but wouldn't do any lasting damage. Suddenly, Sebastian let go of her, and in his expression was the same one he had worn as he told her she'd be a good mother. And now, Santana realized what it was.

Sebastian was completely unwilling to hurt her, but she wasn't completely unwilling to hurt him if it would get him off the drugs faster.

A slow smile spread across Santana's face as a look of panic spread across Sebastian's. He had realized this too.

"Santana," his voice was quiet and shaking as badly as his body, "please, **please**," and now he took her hand, "don't leave me alone."

Santana looked down at the hand in hers. It did not look like it belonged to a living person. "If you haven't stopped throwing up by noon, I'm calling the hospital, got it?" she threatened.

Sebastian let out a relieved smile, and Santana's heart did a funny squeeze so strong, she couldn't pretend it didn't happen. "Deal," he said, before bending over the toilet again.

He was throwing up so loudly that he couldn't hear Santana dialing the police.

"911, what is your emergency?" asked a far too cheerful woman.

"I need to report a rape," Santana realized her mistake when the woman began to coo sympathetically at her.

"Oh, you poor dear! I'll connect you to the sex crimes unit right away!"

"It's not for me," Santana said. "It's for my friend."

"And what's her name?" the woman's voice didn't lose that annoying quality.

"Sebastian," Santana answered. When the woman grew quiet, she asked, "Do you want me to spell that out?"

"Honey, you don't know that men can't be raped, right?" the woman still sounded ridiculously sympathetic. "Perhaps you would like me to redirect you to a divorce attorney?" she asked, still too cheerful.

"No, I want to report a rape, you b-" but Santana didn't have to curse at the woman, because another feminine voice in the background was mumbling something that sounded sharp.

"Hello? Who am I speaking to?" this new woman asked.

"Santana Lopez."

"Hello, Santana," the new woman greeted. "Can you give me your friend's name?"

"Sebastian Smythe," and Santana spelled it out when prompted.

"Do you know who raped him?"

"Alodia," Santana responded.

"And how do you spell that?"

Santana was silent for a moment. "I don't know, but my friend does."

"That's good. When did the rape occur?" the woman asked.

Once again, Santana was forced to claim ignorance.

"Um, okay," the woman sighed, and it came out as a period of long static. "Do you have any evidence, like the clothes he was wearing during-"

"I only just heard of it, and I hadn't seen him for years. I don't know when it happened, but I think it might have happened more than once," Santana gave Sebastian's hurling form one last look before turning her attention back to the woman on the other end of the line. "She's his cocaine and heroin dealer."

There was a shout, and Santana was afraid that Sebastian had heard her, but when she turned to the bathroom, ignoring the woman's repeated questions about that shout, and saw Sebastian lying on the floor next to the toilet bowl, blood smeared across his forehead and the side of the toilet bowl.

"SEBASTIAN!" Santana dropped the phone shook the Warbler until he groaned and blinked blearily up at her.

"Wazgoinon?" he muttered.

"You passed out, you stupid little meerkat," Santana responded viciously.

"Oh," Sebastian didn't toss back a scathing reply, just peered inside the toilet bowl. "I threw up blood," he said like he wasn't sure what the words meant. Santana's hand shook and she dialed her boss on her home phone.

"What are you, uh, what's the world?" Sebastian was starting to get more and more incoherent.

"Burn," Santana answered just before Kurt picked up.

"Your condo better be on fire."

"Were you and Blaine about to do the nasty?" Santana quipped. Once Kurt was done screaming at her for wasting his time, she asked, "Does my insurance cover friends I take to the hospital?"

"Hell no," Kurt growled before hanging up.

Santana gave a frustrated growl. "Whatever," she said. "I can afford it," she hung up and picked up her cell phone again. Sebastian was completely out of it again but this time he was also twitching on the floor.

"Is everything alright?" the woman asked.

"My friend," Santana began. "He's…I think he's having a seizure. A bad one," she felt tears prickle in the corner of her eyes. "What is it called, a grand mall?"

"Alright," the woman said easily. "I'm going to call the Kings County Hospital Center. I know a woman there named Aimi. She'll be able to help you, alright?"

"Okay," Santana felt slightly more in control. "I'm not sure if I can move him or hold him down, though."

"Don't," the woman said sharply. "If you try to restrain him now, you could hurt him or yourself. Wait until the authorities get there. Now, how long has he been seizing?"

"A minute and a half, I think," Santana answered.

"Okay, if it gets longer than five minutes, I want you to call me."

"Actually, don't call me," someone said on the other side of Santana's door. Santana opened it and found a woman with a gentle look on her face waving and smiling at her.

"Are you serious?" Santana couldn't help her jaw dropping in shock.

"I assure you, I am," the policewoman said, walking inside. "There's no such thing as privacy, honey. Not when you call an organization that can legally track every call you make. Oh, and you can call me Pearl, by the way." She stopped in front of the bathroom and looked at Sebastian, who was still on the ground.

"Yes, that's him," Santana said.

"Help me pick him up," Pearl said, eyeing Sebastian's tall body. Santana (wanted to pry the policewoman's eyes away and scream that Sebastian was hers) walked forward.

"Oh, never mind," Pearl said. Despite the policewoman's own slender frame, the hardest part about picking Sebastian up seemed to be balancing the lanky young man across far shorter arms. Santana swallowed. Clearly, Sebastian was worse off than she thought.

* * *

_I hope you all saw the POV shift and adjusted accordingly. I'll have the next chapter up faster than this one, I promise._


	3. For the Break That Would Make it Okay

Chapter III: For the Break That Would Make it Okay.

**Santana:**

The voices outside Santana's window incited Santana's curiosity, so she stuck her head out and saw the emergency workers. "Wow," she told Pearl, "you must have some pull at the hospital. They got here…" she turned and saw Pearl standing directly in front of her, even though it should have take more than five minutes for even Santana to stumble to the front door from the bathroom. "Um, okay," she looked around as the doctors took Sebastian out on a gurney. Pearl closed the door after them and Santana stood alone in her apartment.

"Well, this could be worse," she said, grabbing and sponge and walking over to her toilet to clean up the mess. Then she smelled the toilet. "Oh, god, no, this cannot be worse."

She ran out of the bathroom and called Finn, who sounded so excited to get away from a moody, pregnant Rachel that Santana doubted he would mind the smell. "I'm leaving the key under the lamp next to the door, okay?"

"Where are you going?" Finn asked.

"I know some people who need a little dose of Lima Heights hospitality," Santana replied.

"But you live in New York City."

Santana snorted and hung up before grabbing her coat. Realizing it smelled like Sebastian still, she tossed it in her washing machine and walked outside. She had two choices: see Alodia, or see Sebastian.

She went right.

* * *

Sebastian looked even more terrifying on the bed than he did in her bathroom. At least in her bathroom, the lights didn't leave him drained of all color. Santana suspected that that was why Kurt had chosen them. Either way, when Santana grabbed a chair and sat next to Sebastian, who was looking up at her and biting his lip, apparently hyperventilating. He looked so pathetic, Santana didn't even have the heart to make fun of him or yell at him for stinking up her home.

"Hello," was all she said, raising her hand but unsure of where would be safe to put it. Another downside to the bright lights was they made Sebastian's numerous bruises and bumps and cuts so much more obvious. She wasn't sure that she wouldn't hurt him if she rested her palm on what looked like a broken arm that had never set right.

Sebastian moaned and his breath stuttered, so Santana rose halfway out of her chair before she heard him quietly stutter, "Why…are you…here?"

Santana sat back down again. "I don't have anywhere better to be," she said. "It's freaking Christmas vacation."

"Oh, there's…bound to be…parties…somewhere," Sebastian said slowly.

"The only party I'm interested in is one where you're not crashing it," Santana snapped.

Sebastian might have looked hurt, but Santana didn't notice. A familiar piano intro started and her eyes filled with tears. "Are you kidding me?" she muttered, wiping furiously at her eyes.

"What's…this song?" Sebastian rasped.

Santana turned back to him. "What the hell is up with all of these tubes?" she demanded. If he wanted her to make herself vulnerable, he was going to have to do the same damn thing.

"I came in here dehydrated, tacky-cardiac or something, and had a couple infections," Sebastian shrugged and winced.

Santana nodded, filing away that information for later. "Brittany and I," she began. Dammit, the tears were coming back. She pressed her lips together tightly and refused to speak. And as if she weren't feeling bad enough, Sebastian opened his mouth and began to sing.

_Spend all your time waiting, for that second chance,  
For a break that would make it okay.  
There's always some reason, to feel not good enough,  
And it's hard at the end of the day.  
I need some distraction, or beautiful release,  
Memories seep from my veins.  
Let me be empty, and weightless and maybe,  
I'll find some peace tonight._

"Sebastian," Santana gritted her teeth. "Sebastian, I'm warning you, shut up."

But he didn't. Of course he didn't.

_In the arms of the angel, fly away from here.  
From this dark, cold hotel room  
And the endlessness that you fear.  
You are pulled from the wreckage, of your silent reverie.  
You're in the arms of the angel.  
May you fi-i-i-ind, some comfort here._

"Dammit, Sebastian!" Santana stood up and roared.

"Alodia never gave me any leeway. Why should you get anything?" Sebastian yelled hoarsely back.

Santana began walking toward the door, fists tightly clenched to her sides.

"Where are you going?" Sebastian asked, terrified.

"To see the woman who's apparently made you this huge asshole," she answered.

"No! You can't! You can't!" but Sebastian's cries went unanswered as the door closed behind her.

* * *

**Alodia**:

Blessed with a body that needed little improvement on what nature had given her (that Santana scoffed at), straight blond hair (that Santana claimed was bleached), and bewitching cornflower blue eyes, Alodia was one of those women who only had to wiggle her pert little hips or flutter her (expensive and false) eyelashes to have men drooling around her like doddering idiots. One of those women knew that if she tilted her head just so, the hair would fall over her eyes, and then all she needed was to cap it with her sultry, come-hither smile and people were charmed.

Which was why Santana was such an enigma. The Latina hadn't fallen to any of her charms. And for that, Alodia blamed Sebastian. The boy was definitely hooked on what she could bring him, but he still showed traces of his high-class upbringing, one sign of which was treating women like china dolls with straw for brains, which some were, but others could easily kill each other with just a look.

Judging by the way Santana Lopez was glaring at her, she was squarely in that second category.

"To what do I owe the pleasure of this visit?" Alodia plastered on a fake smile.

"You owe Sebastian," Lopez answered.

Alodia wanted to punch Lopez in the face. "Be careful," she said delicately. "Don't stick your Dick where it doesn't belong."

Lopez looked a little confused. Good. Now, unless Lopez was a pill-popper, she shouldn't be able to tell where Alodia's spy hid.

"Nice try, bitch," Lopez recovered from her confusion quickly. "Now, what did you do to Sebastian?"

Alodia wanted to laugh. Did that boy seriously think he could take her on? Did this girl? "Lopez, I'm going to be Frank with you," she said, watching Lopez's eyebrows knit together in confusion once more. "I have contacts all over the country. You are not going to be able to touch me."

Lopez looked like she was about to say something, but then Tod sat down next to her and she shivered. Alodia actually tossed her head back and laughed.

"You're adorable, Lopez," Alodia wiped fake tears of mirth away from her eyes. She suddenly stopped laughing. The corner of Lopez's mouth twitched, but otherwise her stony expression didn't change. "I like you," Alodia said. "I'll let you go today," she said. "Go on, get," she made humiliating shooing motion with her hands.

Lopez actually did leave, but it was clear through her expression and body language that this wasn't the last time Alodia would see her. Alodia hoped it would be soon. She was raring for a fight, and Lopez would be an amusing adversary.

* * *

_Guys, I promise promise promise that the next chapter will come sooner. Thanks for sticking with the story so far._


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